Dungeon Trolls and Musty Scrolls
by Callipy
Summary: Karkat Vantas was a lot of things. Petulant, loyal, brutally honest, and as of late- In a substantial amount of pain. But while he knew what he WAS, he also knew what he WASN'T. And he WASN'T a magical fucking pansy who went prancing all over the place wielding a wand like a thin, festering dildo. THAT was Ampora's thing, not his. Which led to the question- Why him?


**So.. I might continue this, but it kinda depends? I'm not sure anyone's gonna read it.. Heheh. Yayy. 0 Views. *clappity clap***

 **Anywho, oniforever's AMAZING fic inspired this! They also checked this for errors and offered their advice- As well as helped with the plot. So yes, the plot belongs to them! (oniforever) :000**

 **Disclaimer:** **Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie, and Harry Potter to J.K. Rowling. Sadly.**

 **Very.**

 **Very. Sadly.**

 **Honestly. If I owned either, no ship would be safe.**

 **Your NOTP is my OTP ;0 *wonk***

 **Aaaand, I guess the plot should be here too? Ye. It's (oniforever's), as mentioned before- Plot bunny! They donated it to me, because they're nice like that.**

 **So, this takes place during the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone- Though it won't be the book to the** _ **letter**_ **.. Some conversations, etc. may seem different or the same- It depends, really.**

 **And to clear it up, Karkat's (Well, Troll's in general) anatomy is** _ **slightly**_ **less humanoid.. Nothing HUGE, mind you, but I very much liked oniforever's more insect-esque take on it.. But yeah. He still IS humanoid, but just has small things changed. For example, trolls have nictitating membranes, like cats- Four fingers (three and a thumb), tougher skin, etc. etc.**

 **I can go into more detail if you guys would like. Assuming anyone reads this. XD**

 **So, if you haven't read the book, or forgot- Professor Quirinus Quirrell is inhabited by Voldy, whom is after the Philosopher's Stone so he may regain his physical form.**

 **Aaand, yeah.**

 **He summons a Troll in the dungeon as a distraction. ;0**

 **He didn't quite get what he'd expected.**

 **Anyways, I've rambled enough! Tell me what you think, please!**

 **NOTE: This is more of a Prologue than actual Chapter?**

* * *

The current troll that lay sprawled haphazardly on the hard floor of a particular dungeon was one Karkat Vantas, and he was truly and wholeheartedly past the point of simple movement. Yes, moving seemed to be a thing either in the past, or in the far future - for his body ached in a way he wasn't familiar with in the least. It wasn't anything life-threatening, or at least OBVIOUSLY so, that much was clear.. Fatal wounds, although dealing a more substantial amount of pain in one area, were.. Temporary, as death usually came shortly after. Lasting, aching pain, (Which is what he was definitely feeling) although less familiar, was most likely not why he felt off, though.. Which was, frankly- Strange. As his slack face contorted before settling into a pained grimace, he felt his blood-pusher pound more in his think-pan than in his chest; and his ocular-orbs throbbed tenaciously- even though he hadn't even thought to peel back his eyelids. Furrowing his brow as he shifted slightly on what he assumed to be stone, he made a noise halfway between a petulant wail and a groan at the pain that exploded in his temples; and immediately closed his mouth with an abashed click of his pointed teeth.

He... was just going to pretend that he hadn't made that noise... Yeah.

Gathering his wits, he frowned at the sticky, yet warm sensation currently residing on his upper lip and spreading like a raging, crackling wildfire. It took him a moment to realize that the odd feeling was, in fact, his cartilaginous whiffer spewing his horrid mutant color everywhere.. Well. Shit. If that didn't result in an immediate culling, he didn't know what would.. Other than his vascular system going haywire, and his nose spewing blood up like a broken, gravity-defying faucet; he could feel one of his eyes swelling shut, and a considerable amount of bruises and scrapes littering his small, crumpled form. All in all, he felt like a large, steaming pile of SHIT. Perhaps, even, the largest and steamiest to ever grace the unforgivingly cold stone- after having slid out of a hoofbeast's elongated anus. He imagined he would have made a satisfactory PLOP when he landed, festering like a bucket of discharge.

Jegus..

The stone floor that he was unceremoniously sprawled on was numbingly frigid, and it seemed to sap the heat warmer blooded trolls seemed to contain right from his blood-pusher.. Though it did sooth his upcoming migraine slightly. Doing a mental check, he concluded that no, he wasn't losing any limbs, and yes, he was currently in an unknown location harboring less severe wounds and a now _undoubtedly_ bleeding nose. He overall felt puffy and dirty, as if he'd woken from a particularly long day consisting mainly of rom-coms (and next to nothing of actual sleeping) with his windows covered, and his aching think-pan being disregarded in favor of the current movie. Or, should I say, current romantic endeavor. Whether it be ashen, red, pale or black, any of them really ranked higher than an aching head. And of course, ranking above all quadrant affiliations AND his head was his beloved DVD copy of The Thresh Prince of Bel-Air series.. Though he wouldn't get into that. Now really wasn't the time, but that was pretty obvious.

Sorry, Troll Will Smith.

Brow creasing, his grey chapped lips drew back in a silent snarl as white pointed teeth were revealed in his cherry red maw. God, it felt as if someone had drilled holes in his head before unscrewing the top and pouring caustic acid in the fucking space, only to watch it slowly trickle out of the aforementioned holes like a slow, tedious gore leakage. So... Put simply, his mental faculties weren't quite ready to process his smaller worries (like where in the almighty, taintchafing SHIT he was), nonetheless things pertaining to where his 'friends' were... And he used that term loosely.

Very loosely.

As he internally started a sort of 'reboot', he slowly built up his mentality, like a toddler stacking those insufferably thick and lamely colored blocks to create an undoubtedly horrible rendering of some building (only to later knock it down like a sociopathic, shitmunching MONKEY). He felt strangely hot, and it wasn't just his temperature.. Mentally facepalming, he had to forcibly remind himself that he was bloodied and battered- And his inner fucking juices were simply heating him up externally. The cool stone felt strangely nice on the back of his aching skull, and he made the SIMPLY GENIUS (though devastatingly belated) deduction that he was inside.

Eyes clenching shut, he wasn't sure why he wasn't DEAD, or at least in some form HINDERED- as he could quite clearly hear many unfamiliar voices deceivingly laughing and screeching and doing all sorts of annoyingly obnoxious things that echoed solemnly, and hurt his inner flesh sponge. If they (whoever THEY were) knew he was here, there was no doubt in his mind that one look at his blood would result in his demise.. Well. Of course, that was a pretty big assumption.. But hell, he couldn't be too cautious. As his sore muscles belatedly caught up with his reeling mind and tensed, he waited for someone to stumble upon him- waited for the scream or the pain or.. Well. ANYTHING.

Which..

Was probably just..

A little ways away…

Uh.

Shit.

Great, he couldn't just die in fucking peace. Now he had to question where exactly he was, and why he was there in the first fucking place. Honestly, his infuriatingly slow mind figured that he should have been in at least a more substantial amount of pain by now, considering he was in unknown territory. He could picture all-too-well his steaming-fucking-corpse splayed out for whatever creature wanted a shit-snack. Or a place to pee. Hell, the pink, phallic dirt noodles would probably get him after he'd been torn beyond recognition and thrown out... THAT was an appeasing fucking thought. Grumbling to himself, his mind slowly turned to his current predicament. So.. He didn't know WHERE the fuck he was, OR why. Hell, he didn't even know HOW he got there, or if the voices he could hear bouncing and reverberating down to his level _knew_ he was there in the first place..

Taking a shuddering breath, he took account of how _strange_ it was not only that he wasn't irrefutably DEAD, (If the 'people' knew he was there, why wasn't he chained in some form, or dead? How would they benefit from him if he WAS alive?) but of the delicious and palate-watering smell permeating the air and invading his twitching (and still dripping) cartilaginous nub. How could he have overlooked that before? He couldn't smell colors, but he COULD tell if something smelled appetizing. Lip curling slightly in apprehension as he thought, (and promptly ignored how his stomach growled like a barkbeast, and his mouth watered enough to quench the thirst of the sun-bleached sands of Alternia) he figured that he most likely wasn't in any immediate danger by faceless trolls. And, if that was the case... Well, then he should wander, or at least escape.. Wherever it was he was. Which..

Wait.. Alternia.. The pink human phallus monkeys.. The game. The meteor.. The game, the GAME, the game, the game, the fucking game. It all hit him like a punch to the fucking face, and he could only stifle a scream of frustration by biting his lip, face warping into a heady scowl as his lip split and MORE fucking blood beaded at the small gash. Groaning, his throat felt hoarse and scratchy and he could taste the iron tang of his vile blood as it trickled down the back of his throat, intruding his palate via open fucking lip, which only further put him in a sour mood. How could he have POSSIBLY forgotten? Was he THAT dumb?! What in the ALMIGHTY shit aggravating someone's unwashed ANUS was wrong with him?

He honestly amazed himself daily with the amount of bullshit he put himself through. Yeah, denial sure was working for him. Finally (FINA-FUCKING-LY) opening his eyes, he blinked owlishly, his see-through, protective third eyelid of sorts slowing down the process of adjusting to the light and delaying his blinks by a fraction of a second. Gray eyes taking a surprisingly long time to adjust, he hazily looked up at the ceiling of.. A.. Building, at the least. The underlying scent from the food was a strange musty smell that made him cringe internally. It seemed.. Dank. Unpleasant. It was probably just the festering MOLD molecules making themselves at home in any porous opening though.

Looking around further proved to be.. Well. Strange? All around him were decorations that were probably meant to be 'creepy', (in some diluted sense of the word..) with the annoying color scheme of orange and black. He supposed he hadn't at first seen them because they seemed to have been disturbed by his presence.. Yip-Dee-Fucking-Doo, even inanimate objects had no respect for him.. Though it didn't seem to be HIM in general, because they were lazily drifting back to what was probably their original positions above him as he internally mused to himself.. So that made him ponder not only WHERE he was, but HOW he fucking got there.. Because his arrival seemed to have disturbed them to some extent. Sluggishly sitting up, he sighed and gritted his teeth before standing. Swaying only slightly, he managed to not simultaneously puke, and most likely spray a wonderfully large amount of blood everywhere with a sneeze; because honestly, the dust floating in the air was so thick he could probably cut through it with his sickle.

Not that he would.

That would have looked stupid, even on a comedic level.

At the sound of an obnoxious laugh rivalling that of Pyropes keen cackles, he spun around quickly to regard who had made the offending noise, surprised not only that he was still standing considering how hard his head had protested moving that fast, and also by the fact that he had to look so far up to find the speaker. He was flying, which gave him a small start- But he had seen weirder, and flying wasn't all too special under the earlier circumstances he'd been under, so his surprise wasn't _that_ great. What confused him was.. Well. Multiple things. First- He was a human. Again, nothing he hadn't seen before, but still strange considering the.. Well. As mentioned before, circumstances he'd been under. He hadn't really thought he'd ever be alive to see another sack of pink flesh, but.. There he was.. Not that he was pink. In fact, all color seemed to be lost to him- And he hadn't inexplicably become oblivious to color because he could quite clearly see a crudely carved orange pumpkin right behind him.. So. He was a gray, see-through human with a fashion choice that would make Kanaya faint, and Eridan fume. That was.. Something. Giving the guy a scrutinizing glare and matching scowl, he didn't miss the twinkle in his eye, or the devilish grin that set him on edge. Floating closer, the unnamed frothing shitsponge got right in his face, chortling once more- And giving him multiple reasons to dislike him thoroughly.

"Didn't ya know? There's a TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" He said, which only infuriated and baffled Karkat.

Was he talking about him? Were his friends nearby?! Blood-pusher picking up as his eyebrows raised from their previous angry tilt to a more alarmed look, he opened his mouth to ask what the hell he meant, but didn't get to before the fucking pest blew him a raspberry and practically flung himself sideways, going through the wall as if it hadn't been there in the first place. Quite frazzled, he closed his mouth before renewing his glowering scowl with vigor.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Was really all he had to say on the matter.

Yellow sclera practically glowing as his eyes flickered to his chest to regard his slightly stained black shirt which depicted his symbol, he had to admit to himself that he looked a little worse for wear. By his standards, anyway. Being nocturnal by nature, his vision easily picked out things left unseen in the poor lighting. Taking note of where small cuts and bruises breached his tough, layered skin and nicked his exoskeleton, he wiped away some of the candy red blood that had coagulated on his shirt with a grimace. Yes, let's shout to the fucking world how he was a social outcast. Wiggling his four working fingers in turn to make sure he hadn't lost a digit, he scraped some of the accumulated dirt out from beneath one of his yellow-tinted claws with a thumb-nail, before realizing how fucking STUPID that was.

Yes, grooming himself was the best thing he could have possibly done in that situation. Not look around for unforeseen dangers, go after the gray nuisance, or look for his fucking friends.. Yeah, Grade A leader material.. No wonder so many people had died.. It was all his fucking fault. Gritting his teeth as such self-depreciative thoughts swirled around his cranium, he tugged his dark sweater over his hand before wiping blood from his nose with a sniff. Brooding wasn't exactly the most PRODUCTIVE thing, so he decided to stop being a fucking assmunching pansy douchenozzle and do the sensible thing.

Look for his friends.

Or track down the frivolous, nookwhiffing scumbag that had practically SCREECHED in his ear only moments prior.

His friends would obviously be there with him.. It went without saying, really. He was the leader.. Well.. WAS. Keyword right fucking there.. But. He couldn't be alone.. And why the fuck would the spawn of heinous debauchery say there was a troll in the dungeon, if most feeble human minds didn't get the concept of Aliens? One of his friends could have told him about Alternia and such.. Or at least their species' name. Clinging to this theory, he strengthened his resolve before moving. His friends.. They just HAD to be there with him. HAD to.

..Right?

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't daft, nor was he easily fooled.. So not only were mistakes by him personally few and far between, but a mishap at this point.. It was frankly inconceivable. Not that he even MADE mistakes in the first place. He was deceitful- fiendish, and unholy.. A corrupt being that would one day hold unyielding power. With that said, he would admit.. that some things just tended to be more.. difficult in the body he inhabited. Who's body? Well, Quirrell's- of course! The foolish Professor.. Though he may have been hindered slightly physically, there was no END to his perfidious, diabolical ways. Yes, yes- Diabolical is quite the cliche word in this case, but it served it's purpose in its definition.. Whispering in the weakminded and even weaker-kneed Professors mind, any feeble attempt at salvaging a scrap of dignity- of salvation, of SANITY was engulfed. How pitiful, though he hadn't been expecting a large fight from the beginning. He was so terribly FOOLISH. It only took some coaxing, some small fibs, and some minor exploiting- And they were on the same page.

So with that said, he should probably divert all of his attention at the task on hand.

Which was quite simple, really. After all, Quirrell was quite exceptional at anything pertaining to, or relating to TROLLS. Yes, the big nasty and no doubt DUMB creatures were his expertise.. Which was why he was using one in the current ploy. Oh, yes- Moving the stone from Gringotts had been a minor setback.. Well. Admittedly, MORE than minor- but he could adapt. He'd have to have been all types of hopeless if he had just given up.. For, all people of great power have had to surpass more than one setback. Failure wasn't impossible, but it was damn well hard to achieve with the way he'd figuratively played his cards.. Assuming, of course- Everything went according to plan..

His simple. SIMPLE. Plan.

All he had to do was summon the damn creature in the dungeons, play dumb as he alerted the fools- then seize the opportunity of chaos and retrieve the stone. Easier said than done, of course- But a slobbering Mountain Troll would fit his needs in terms of 'distraction' quite nicely.. His cupidity, his pure AVARICE- NEED for the stone, for a physical form overwhelmed him momentarily, and his nerves were practically HUMMING.

Grinning to himself in a smile that felt just as deranged as it looked- He used his puppets face as well as his own to do so, his haste caused the words, the movement, the POWER to overtake him, and before he knew it, it was done. The Troll was in place, and he could now move on, proceed- go forth, ABSCOND. His plan wouldn't complete itself! He didn't doubt his ability, and was off in a cloud of dust, and with a billowing SWOOSH of his cape. By now the nearest troll would have been in the dungeon, wreaking havoc and being terrifically dull and sufficiently distracting..

He was gone, departed, elapsed- Though if he'd stopped to listen, to watch the dust motes he had disturbed float down- made visible by a beam of light, he would have heard a very distinct, and very angry voice cry out something along the lines of..

"WHAT THE FUCK."

 _...Sometimes, overestimating oneself can lead to a rude, and LOUD awakening._

 _This is why you double-check your shit, kids._

* * *

 **Yeah, I'm not that proud. unu. But reviews will let me know what you think, soo. Fire away! This is my first fanfic, so I'd appreciate Constructive Criticism!**

 **Word Count to beat- 3310, or something along those lines! I hope to exceed or meet this each chapter! 0v0 I hope you enjoyed this!**

 **This is more of a filler chapter anywho, as the REAL fun starts soon. ;0**

 **I hope you tolerated this piece of garbage. There's a reason KK is worse for wear, other than my gore fascination, but that comes later.**


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